


Migraine Misery

by Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Because Harry, Eggsy is concerned, Gen, Harry is stubborn, M/M, Merlin isn't taking any of Harry's shit, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/pseuds/Mochas%20N%20Mayhem
Summary: Harry didn’t dare lean his head into his hands or rub his temple or give any other obvious visual sign that would tip Merlin off. He was a seasoned Kingsman agent, and he’d spent decades in the field. He had endured more traumatic injuries than he could remember off hand; he had completed missions while bleeding out, with broken limbs and gunshot wounds, and he’d survived stronger for them. He’d lived through a fucking point blank gunshot to the head. He could overcome a simple headache, and he could do so without being mother-henned to death.





	Migraine Misery

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely my ' _fuck, migraine, fuck, I'm at work and can't go curl up in a ball in a dark room, meds only help so much, I need something to distract me, alright time to inflict my suffering on some poor, defenseless fictional character, cause misery shared is misery halved, sorry Harry, I'm not sorry_ ' fic. So... Sorry Harry, I'm totally not sorry.

The first sign was the heavy weight he felt when he stood from his desk, intending to move just to the table against the wall to refill his glass from the decanter there. The second was the way, with his first step, the room shifted strangely, strangely enough to make him realize that it wasn’t the _room_ shifting, but that his own balance was shifting off kilter, his own step faltering. Reflexes honed over decades of training caught his free hand on the edge of his desk to catch himself and, sliding his eyes closed for a long moment to gather himself, Harry swore silently.

 _Shit_.

Carefully Harry set the tumbler in his hand upon his desk. Carefully Harry lowered himself back to his chair. The drink could wait. In fact, the drink _should_ wait, considering…

He didn’t dare bring a hand to his head, no matter how he longed to. It would bring only minimal relief, if it brought any at all, and Harry had no illusions as to whether or not Merlin had eyes in his office. Arthur he might be these days, but the wizard bowed to the king only when he wished to; Harry’s desire for privacy was not one of those wishes to which Merlin bowed.

He could hear the other man’s sardonic snerk still, when Harry had found the first bug in his office after he’d taken the crown. ‘ _Yeh didn’t think a new title would change anything, did you? You know better than that, Harry. I’ve known you for too long to leave yeh unsupervised in yer condition._ ’

A heated argument had followed, voices low and pointed, Harry unrelenting on the fact that there was no ‘condition,’ much less one that warranted surveillance, and Merlin just as unrelenting that Harry had no say in the matter. It had been a standoff, one that Harry had lost, and they both knew it. While Harry routinely swept his office for bugs and removed any he found, they always reappeared eventually ( _sooner, rather than later, usually_ ), and Harry knew he never found them all. Merlin was far too skilled for that.

So no. Harry didn’t dare lean his head into his hands or rub his temple or give any other obvious visual sign that anything was out of the ordinary. Instead he sat still, eyes closed carefully, inhaling deeply in through his nose, exhaling back out through his mouth, centering himself through force of will. He was a seasoned Kingsman agent, he’d spent decades in the field, and now he _led_ the Kingsman. He had endured more traumatic injuries thant he could remember off hand; he had completed missions while bleeding out, with broken limbs and gunshot wounds, and he’d survived stronger for them. He’d lived through a fucking point blank gunshot to the head. He could overcome a simple headache, and he could do so without being mother-henned to death by his lover.

It took several minutes to get the beginnings of the headache under control enough to stand, but he managed to do so without tipping off the cameras- at least he assumed so, since Merlin’s voice hadn’t sounded over his glasses feed yet. Heaven knew the man wouldn’t hesitate to call him out for any perceived negligence of his ‘condition.’ This time, when he stood, he did so slowly, leaving the tumbler in its place on his desk. He was ready, when he stepped away from his desk, for the disembodied sensation that sometimes accompanied movement in the beginnings of these headaches; it was the feeling that he was moving both faster and slower than he meant to, than he thought he was, as if the heavy pressure in his head had somehow pushed him slightly out of phase with gravity and reality. He didn’t have to hold onto his desk this time, nor did he visibly sway with the dizzying effect as he crossed to the table against the wall. When he reached it, he took not the decanter of scotch, but the crystal pitcher of chilled water beside it. Prize in hand, and taking a second tumbler as well, he returned to sit once more at his desk.

He was proud that, when he lifted the pitcher to pour, his hand shook only the slightest bit, not enough to be noticeable by Merlin’s cameras. There was a part of him that knew it was a ridiculous thing to be proud of, and another, larger, part of him that loathed that he’d fallen enough that his hand shook at all, but both thoughts were pushed down and boxed away ruthlessly. The pain, a stabbing, throbbing sensation that pulsed with every beat of his heart, was beginning to build behind his left eye, and it was more than he could concentrate on to both suppress it _and_ deal with superfluous- _wasteful_ \- emotions.

The pitcher met his desktop with a marginally louder clack of crystal on polished wood than he’d intended, loud enough to make him flinch the slightest bit. He froze then, carefully _not_ looking up to where he knew at least one of the cameras to be. There was a chance that Merlin might not notice the clatter of the pitcher, or the way he had flinched, but only if Harry gave no other signs for him to take note of; checking a camera would not only be useless to him, but Merlin would also surely take it as an admission of guilt. He waited for a moment, to see if his lover had noticed, but when there seemed to be no concerned call forthcoming he moved again, this time to reach down and open a drawer of his desk.

Ostensibly searching for a pen, he instead silently keyed open a hidden compartment in the bottom of the drawer where he had taken to hiding his pain pills- pain pills he had firmly ordered the medical department to keep silent about if anyone were to ask, Merlin included. There were _some_ perks to being Arthur, after all. He palmed two pills, closed the compartment, and withdrew a pen from the drawer before sliding it shut once more. The pills he kept hidden in his hand as he shakily reached for the glass of water; he managed to slip them past his lips along with a long pull of the refreshingly cold water without letting the cameras see. Then, setting the tumbler upon the desk carefully, he turned his attention to the paperwork before him.

At least, he gave the impression of turning back to his paperwork. Truthfully, the pain had already grown enough that focusing on the tediousness of reviewing the Kingsman annual budget was all but impossible. He attempted to at least make a show of going through the papers, even going so far as to go through the shaky motions of ‘signing’ at the bottom of a few pages when he realized there were blank lines awaiting such. No ink was set to actual paper, Harry having enough presence of mind to know that blindly signing Arthur’s paperwork would end in disaster, but he had to keep up appearances as best he was able.

It wasn’t until a knock sounded at his door, loud and seeming to echo through the room, reverberating through a skull already at the tender mercies of his headache, that he realized he’d been staring at the same page for far too long. Surely long enough to arouse Merlin’s suspicions if the man was watching. Suppressing a grimace as the knock repeated, the sound summoning another sharp stab of pain, Harry set his pen carefully upon his desk and called out;

“Enter.”

The door opened slowly. Harry knew he’d been caught when Eggsy stepped through.

 _Shit_.

There was no indication on the boy’s face that he was concerned, only a pleasant mask of greeting that Harry expected many a mark had seen when Eggsy was on a mission, but the fact that he’d knocked was perfectly telling.

Eggsy _never_ knocked.

 _Buggering fuck_.

“Merlin’s sent you,” Harry said promptly, cutting things off at the pass. Eggsy’s response was a soft snort, and a side comment of,

“Told ya he’d know, didn’t I?”

“I’ve not spent over thirty years as a spy to be fooled by so thin a deception,” the older man answered dryly, his voice surprisingly even, unfaltering despite the throbbing, pounding ache that was slowly taking over his thoughts. He couldn’t, however, keep himself from flinching when Eggsy stepped away from the door, allowing a bright burst of setting sunlight to flare through the open entranceway. Immediately he squeezed his eyes closed, his breath catching; he hated that he had given in to such weakness as he heard Eggsy swear just before the door slammed closed quickly and loudly. He hated even more that he flinched again at the sound.

“ _Harry_ …” Eggsy’s voice was soft this time, and Harry didn’t have to open his eyes and look to know the expression the younger man wore upon his face.

“I’m quite alright, my boy.” He was aiming for firm, and was somewhat horrified to hear his voice tremble instead. This time it wasn’t Eggsy who answered.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Merlin swore in his ear, his voice soft despite its annoyed tone. “ _Yer done for the day, Arthur. Galahad will be escorting yeh home_.”

“He will do nothing of the sort,” Harry protested immediately. Not that he was done for the day, because as loathe as he was to admit it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to work through the headache to come. It was only going to get worse from here on out. He was _perfectly capable_ , however, of getting home under his own power.

He opened his mouth to say exactly that, only to find himself cut off immediately.

“ _Don’t even try it,_ ” Merlin growled testily. “ _Yeh can forget whatever rubbish yer getting ready to spew out; yer going home, and Galahad **will** be accompanying you. That’s the end of it_.”

“ _I am perfectly capable_ ,” Harry answered, ignoring the other man’s command, “of making it to my own home without a babysitter.”

“ _Yer not to let him out of yer sight, Galahad. That’s an order. Do yeh understand?_ ”

“You’ll remember that I am Arthur; my orders supercede those issued by Merlin. Galahad has more important duties that escorting me home. Galahad, you are dismissed.”

“ _If there is any reasonable cause to believe Arthur’s judgement might be impaired, Merlin’s orders supercede those of Arthur. Galahad, you will escort Arthur out of the building._ ”

“And _what_ reasonable cause do you-”

“ _Right_.” Eggsy’s voice cut through their bickering sharply, loud enough to make Harry flinch. The boy’s green eyes softened, an unspoken apology writ in his gaze, but his voice remained firm even as it quieted. “Both of ya shut it. I’m taking ya home, Harry. Not cause Merlin’s orderin’ me too, but cause I know tha’ look in yer eyes, an’ there ain’t no way I’m leavin’ ya alone right now, so you can just forget tryin’ ta argue with me about it, alright?”

Any hope Harry had of denying the boy died an instant death at the look on Eggsy’s face. The earlier mask was gone; in its place was a mixture of worry, concern, care, understanding, guilt, and a clear need to help.

 _Shit_.

“ _Go home, Harry_ ,” Merlin said softly, his tone gentler now, and Harry knew that the words were for his ears alone this time. Merlin, too, could see the look on Eggsy’s face. All he had to do was look through Harry’s feed. “ _I’d rather be at yer side myself, but I can’t. Not yet. Let the lad take care of yeh until I can. He needs it almost as much as you do._ ”

“Fine way to play on my guilt,” he muttered, quiet enough that Eggsy shouldn’t be able to hear, but loud enough that Merlin could. The Scot knew perfectly well that neither he nor Eggsy had ever truly been able to erase the guilt from the day of the dog test. Eggsy blamed himself for Harry going off to Kentucky alone and getting shot, regardless of the fact that the blame for that laid solely upon the shoulders of Richmond Valentine and Chester King. Harry blamed himself for leaving Eggsy to grieve his apparent death with the thought that Harry hated him, regardless of the fact that he’d had no control over getting shot, or that his second coma in as many years had left him unable to alert Kingsman to his survival.

“ _Whatever it takes_ ,” his lover answered, and Harry mentally cursed the man for his complete lack of shame.

“I’ll need to shut down,” he said out loud, closing his eyes in defeat.

“ _I’ll take care of it_ ,” Merlin replied. Harry sighed in resignation.

“Of course you will.”

He pushed back carefully from his desk, his hands shaking far too much as he gripped the edge of it to stand. The world spun and Eggsy rushed forward, relief in his eyes, to help. As Harry gave himself over into his protégé’s care, allowing the younger man to bustle about him, to wrap an arm around him in support and begin to lead him out of his office, he allowed himself to acknowledge that, perhaps, it wasn’t such a bad thing to allow those who cared for him- and whom he cared for- to take care of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This... will probably have another.... chapter? Ficlette? IDK. At some point. Because it's a good way to distract myself, and I probably owe Harry some comfort after inflicting a migraine upon him, right? But heaven knows when that'll happen, since this was written mid-migraines during lulls at work.
> 
> If you're on tumblr, you can find me at [MakethWoman](http://makethwoman.tumblr.com)!


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